


Sleep for Tyrande

by EmeryldLuk



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Ambitious Underlings, Drugged Sleep, Foot Fetish, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Stress Relief, War, caught red-handed, girls will be girls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 12:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16219505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeryldLuk/pseuds/EmeryldLuk
Summary: Her world is under siege, her world is burning, leaving no time to sleep. Tyrande Whisperwind is determined to push the enemy from her home and far away, but it is taking too much time and her handmaidens are scheming to help her no matter what.





	Sleep for Tyrande

The clear night sky, sparkling with stars, was hidden by a lingering film of smoke. Though the fires which caused it did not rage, they were still bright enough to illuminate the cradle of branches that held the city of Darnassus.

Tyrande Whisperwind bit her lip as she gazed down from her balcony upon her city, much like a worried mother watching her child. There was nothing good about what she saw and she saw it too many times with every glance outside.

But three days ago, they had come, with their war engines and bloodlust, to tear the world down by the roots. Nordrassil would survive the engagement, but every other minute, Tyrande worried that her people would not.

It was a momentary weakness, one that she banished with a clenched fist upon the balcony railing, elegantly carved of wood and inlaid with precious metals. Dismissing her traitorous thoughts, Tyrande returned to her desk strewn with papers.

Scout reports were buried under field requests for reinforcements. Maps of the city and its surroundings covered supply reports and casualty lists lay stacked alonside deployment records. Bottles of ink sat in the midst of it all; two quills already broken by the strength of her hand.

Standing in the hall, Milyssia eased the door open a crack; just enough to see Tyrande bent over her desk with wet quill pressed to parchment. Milyssia fussed with the hem of her sleeve which had already begun to fray from her nails.

"Milyssia," Kevaraei squeaked from just behind her. "Are you going in or not?"

Milyssia shut the door. "She just looks so busy. What if we're only bothering her?"

Kevaraei lifted her arms slightly, emphasizing the papers she held. "After we worked so hard to come up with ideas to help her? If you are not going in, I am."

"No, I'm going in. I'm going in."

The door eased open without even the slightest of creaks, allowing the smell of citrus and sweat to enter the hallway. The two hand maidens walked into the room, steeling themselves for the worst.

Tyrande failed to lift her head at the sound of soft footsteps, her brow furrowed and the only other sound of her quill scratching at the parchment.

"Please put the tea on the table," Tyrande said. "I will partake once I have issued these supply orders."

Milyssia cleared her throat. "Your Honor, if we have a moment?"

Tyrande lifted the quill, shifting it to the side so as not to drip. "Milyssia. Kevaraei. I do hope this isn't a report that we have run out of tea."

"No, Your Honor," Kevaraei answered, "we wish to aide you in your defense planning. We have brought with us-"

"No, and no, and no." Tyrande scowled. "There is no amount of home grown studying that will allow you two to even understand the needs of a major defensive such as this."

"Your Honor," Milyssia pleaded. "If you would only give us a moment to explain what we came up with."

"Unless you have tea and fruit, I am not interested. Where is Anniyaia? You do like to conspire as a group." Tyrande turned her focus back to her papers. The smell of acrid smoke wafted into the room. Milyssia wrinkled her nose.

"Horrible thing, Your Honor, to have the doors open with the air so polluted," Kevaraei said calmly. She glided over to the balcony and teased the doors closed. "How about I send for some incense instead, to help clear your mind."

"Yes, that sounds lovely." Tyrande lifted her gaze for a moment. "Perhaps the Jasper? or the Moon Queen."

"It will be so," Kevaraei intoned with a graceful bow of her head. She approached the hallway exit as the door swung open before Anniyaia carrying a tray of tea. Anniyaia took one look at the cluttered desk and shook her head.

"Leaving us with all the clean up again?" The two hand maidens nodded to each other in passing. "Have you slept?"

Anniyaia set the tray on the table, neatening the arrangement of biscuits, grapes and orange slices. She lifted the teapot and began to pour the tea.

"I will sleep when my people are safe," Tyrande said as if this hadn't been the first mention. "Is that the Cinnamon Heartbreak?"

"It is, Your Honor," Anniyaia confirmed. "I thought a bit of spice would do you some good at this hour."

Tyrande accepted the cup of tea when is was offered, the completed orders set aside to dry. She breathed deep, enjoying the scent of cinnamon mixed with a hint of mint and what she had come to call life. It reminded her of a day spent in the temple on a hot day; of sweat and hard work and reward through effort.

Tyrande took a sip. "Perfectly brewed as usual. What is the word from the kitchens?"

Milyssia felt her cheeks going red and she wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or jealousy.

Anniyaia smiled slightly. "The chef says he will be able to prepare you a fine meal of fruitcake and buttered carp. He also warns that current supplies will not last much longer than a month or two at most."

Tyrande took a longer sip. It truly was a wonderful tea, inspired by interaction with a few human merchants. She had been shocked when the idea had been proposed; making tea with anything besides standard tea leaves was not only strange but ridiculous. In the end, it was worth it. The clash of cold and hot flavors was quite nice and relaxing.

Relaxing. Tyrande jerked upright in her chair, splashing tea down her legs. She set the cup down and scowled at her stained dress and the tea dripping from her shoes.

"By the Goddess," She swore.

Milyssia took the initiative, swiftly fetching a cloth to wipe the stain away. "It will be no problem, Your Honor. We can dry the shoes on the balcony."

"Thank you, Milyssia. I don't know what came over me. Anniyaia, if you would refill my cup, please."

Milyssia gently pulled Tyrande's soft shoes from her feet, releasing the scents of sweat and foot odor into the air. Tyrande flexed her feet, wriggling her toes. As Milyssia stepped outside, Anniyaia re-poured Tyrande's tea.

Kevaraei shouldered open the door, her hands occupied with a cup of incense and a it's holder. Anniyaia hurried over under the pretext of helping her set up.

"Which one did you get?" Anniyaia whispered.

Kevaraei hung the incense holder off the hook on the wall. "Sleeping Dragon," she whispered back. "I hope that's okay."

"It's perfect. She won't know what hit her." Anniyaia lit the incense and stepped away so she wouldn't breath it all in.

"What if she notices?" Kevaraei worried. "Or if the general walks in while she's sleeping."

"Stop worrying, Kevaraei. Everything is going smoothly. She hasn't even noticed that I drugged the tea."

"Oh, okay."

Milyssia returned inside and pulled a foot rest from a small closet filled with writing implements, parchment, maps and books.

"A massage while you think, Your Honor?" Milyssia said, setting the foot rest down just to the side of Tyrande's chair.

Tyrande let out an audible groan. "I do not think a massage is-"

"My apologies, but perhaps the activity or lack-there-of will stimulate new ideas?" Milyssia interrupted, dropping her head to hide a smirk from sight.

"Very well, but I still have duties." Tyrande shifted her chair and set down her feet on the short stool. Milyssia's nose filled with an odor much like cheese made from the milk of goats. It reminded her of peaceful days in which her biggest worry was whether or not Tyrande would eat too much at parties.

She took in hand Tyrande's left foot, gently pressing the calluses on the balls of her feet. The muscles were taut from the constant pacing and strolls. Milyssia moved her thumbs over the sole, smoothing out the knots caused from standing in place by the war tables for hours at a time.

"There was a time when we had a rat infestation, Your Honor, do you remember?" Milyssia began to ramble, "they filthy things were all over the place and for every one we managed to catch, three more seemed to pop up to replace it. For weeks, we were constantly checking the stores and warding the kitchen. Even Kevaraei and I got summoned to help chase them out during the cooking hours. Rats are so horrible and they look like dirty socks with beady eyes."

"Is there a point, Milyssia?"

Kevaraei knelt down on Milyssia's left, plying her hands to Tyrande's right foot. To her, the smell was akin to cheese puffs dipped in vinegar. Not something anyone in their right mind would eat with a straight face, but it kindled thoughts of the few nights when she'd been able to curry some free time to herself and gorge on her favorite snacks. Pickles were particularly additcting.

"No point in particular," Kevaraei covered, "no point but idle chatter, only that we dealt with the rats in quite a fascinating manner. The head chef got fed up with how slowly the rats were dealt with. After yelling his head off, oh that was quite the spectacle, he cooked up some bait and had us lay it out in specific locations with sleep spells laid as traps. If only we knew what the Azeroth liked to eat the most. Then we could set up similar traps with the druids and wizards prepped with sleep spells."

"Don't be silly," Tyrande tried to snap, but the effect was ruined by a yawn at the end. Standing behind Tyrande, Anniyaia began to gently fan the priestess with an elegant hand fan decorated with the moon embraced by tree branches. Tyrande rubbed her eyes. "There is nothing the Azeroth would be tempted by except death and destruction. They are not rats."

"Then that's a pity," Milyssia said.

As the maiden continued to ramble on about another scenario, Tyrande silently cursed her tired eyes that just wouldn't stay open. She reached a hand for her teacup, set aside on the desk and was surprised when she heard the sound of porcelain breaking. Anniyaia exclaimed her sorrow at the sight of the pale blue cup broken in three pieces on the floor. Tyrande squinted at her hand and then at the floor. Her blurry vision provided little insight into the cause of the accident.

Tyrande tried to push up out of her chair and found her strength lacking. She fell back into the cushion and put everything together in her mind.

"The tea was drugged," she stated, not really needing confirmation.

Anniyaia smiled sweetly. "You really must get some sleep, Your Honor. The generals will be able to manage for a few hours."

"If I fall asleep while my people suffer."

"No one will think worse of you. It has been three days." Milyssia and Kevaraei stopped massaging Tyrande's feet and brought out a blanket to lay across her torso.

"Sleep for now," Milyssia said. "All will be well."

"No," Tyrande mumbled, struggling against her falling eyelids. She tried to protest, but the words fell both silent and on deaf ears as the hand maidens made sure she was properly tucked in.

"Finally asleep," Kevaraei breathed in relief.

"Now we can properly help her."

They dragged over stools to the desk. Capping the incense, Anniyaia began sorting through papers whilst  Milyssia and Kevaraei dithered over the maps. The had barely begun with a plot involving the fighting lines when the doors were flung open.

"Tyrande- What is going on?" Malfurion stood in the threshhold, eyes darting from face to face for an answer.

"Archdruid!" Anniyaia recovered from her surprise. "We were just helping the High Priestess while she took a moment to rest."

He frowned. "Get out all of you."

"Yes, Archdruid," They complied, evacuating the room with every scrap of dignity they could muster while making haste."


End file.
